


maybe, baby, not so much

by yerimsus (deadangels)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23443903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadangels/pseuds/yerimsus
Summary: To Jun, it was always just Wonwoo and him; the only person who'd listen. And he would like to rattle the stars just how Wonwoo rattles his emotions awake.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Kudos: 5





	maybe, baby, not so much

**Author's Note:**

> Written under two hours. :~( So unedited, and kinda... raw? as per my usual style.
> 
> My twitter is @purpleproses. Come, say hi!
> 
> Here's to reconstructing the way we view love.

A corner of Jun's lips starts bleeding, the open wound drawing blood. Skin peeled off, thatched from the consistent withdrawal of fingers to congealed blood. His tongue darts out, testing the tenderness of bruised lips. Tangy and sharp, the taste of blood greets him instantaneously, though not strong enough to linger. Not tangible enough to haunt him. Or so he believes.

Junhui never shared the same sentiment with God; a free-thinker as he'd like to call himself. Stars aligning is another case. "It's bullshit," he finds himself saying once to Wonwoo, the only friend who'd listen under, ironically, a canister of stars. The shine would hold them both, thread them intrinsically together against the dark. Equidistant and a cosmic space sighing in between, another sigh punctuates Jun's words. Wonwoo prepares himself to listen.

It's always his words that would _feel_ —fill in on the silence. Wonwoo, to Jun, just happens to be in conjunction with that silence. Maybe, a friend or two might somehow replace him at a given situation, but the silence Jun has become familiar with would never try to displace Wonwoo.

Other rare occasions, Jun would be the one listening. On the other end seats Wonwoo, the words just won't feel the same. Instead, he'd be staring into the distance. This always happens under the same sky, the expanse would be a sunlit one instead of stars gleaning through. Despite Jun's obvious distaste for them, things will always settle that way.

The beginning phrase is always "Why don't you believe in God, Jun?" Not how-are-you's nor a tepid opening statement like "Hey." Always about God, as if he's taken to seeking absolution for Jun since he has long given up for himself. Shrugging, the only complying answer Jun is able to give is "I don't know."

"Doesn't seem to be the case," Wonwoo lets out after a while, the timbre of his voice lowering to a whisper. Face for a moment thoughtful, measuring the nondescript tone with which Jun answered, later shifting into a mask of neutrality. The gust of traffic supplies in the aftermath of his answer. 

Nothing much always comes out of it. Often ends with Wonwoo nodding and completely changing the topic without skipping a beat. But there'd always be a knowing glimmer in his eyes.

Junhui sometimes wishes to rattle it out of him.

Once, he tries disarming him, "Why do you believe in God, Wonwoo?" Same question, same convincing tone, accompanied however with a resounding emptiness that never lilts into his friend's words. 

"I don't," Wonwoo scoffs into his hand almost immediately. Obviously caught off-guard, but somehow still managing to sound confident. A grin tinges the corners of his lips, eyes squinting in return. The smile that etches whenever he finds something amusing: languid and predisposed, a knowing glint twinkling into his eyes just as the lights start catching onto. 

Junhui doesn't realize he has stopped walking. Standing there, chiseled into the streetlights, he watches as Wonwoo's figure starts receding into the distance, not once stopping. If Jun doesn't keep up with the pace, Wonwoo's figure might just completely vanish. Without a trace. Wonwoo glances back at him after realising the loss of Junhui's footprints on the snow beside him, the same knowing grin still on full display. "Catch up, slowpoke!" 

That rouses Junhui up, tempted to shout back a hard "Fuck you!" And he does. Not at all minding the pointed stares given by the elderly nor the tumbling laughter coming from the children coinciding with the same asphalt the two of them are trudging on.

Because to Jun, it was just the both of them.

Also has it been mentioned that it was winter? Oh yes, it was winter, right at the heart of it, and Junhui feels _so_ , so cold. 

  
If the tangy tang and sharp taste of the blood at the corner of his mouth doesn't haunt him, the cold does. So cold, he feels the palate of the frigid air in frosted fingers and the gossamer of veins in his bloodshot eyes.

A fire crackles somewhere, alighting the dark in orange flames. Dimmed to a comfortable degree. Patterns embossed in the wooden walls, silence draping the night.

And in this silence, Wonwoo whispers a prayer into his lips. Comes out in a steam. A corner of his lips starts bleeding, open wound draws blood. 

The taste is unfamiliar even if the silence is not. Instead, it threads the limbs of their bodies together into the mist. 

  
Junhui has found his absolution.


End file.
